Project Narcissist
by JadeSarahMalfoy
Summary: "The bigger they are, the harder they fall. And you, Draco... you fell pretty damn hard." With his father escaped from Azkaban, Draco is in a very difficult position. Throwing himself into his schoolwork to escape it leads to Hermione's new - and probably unhealthy - obsession: finding out what's wrong and fixing Draco Malfoy.
1. Stood Up

**A/N - Hey guys, long time no see :) This is a new fic I'm starting while I'm having such mega writer's block for my other fic, Left Behind. It was inspired by a challenge over on the forum HPFC **(link is:_ (slash) topic (slash) 44309 (slash) 69137535 (slash) Multi-Chapter-Boot-Camp-Challenge_ if you're interested)** which I haven't entered but I am stealing the prompts for ;) They give fifty prompts, and each prompt must be a chapter so I'm going for it!**

**Basically, the gist of this fic is this: AU Sixth Year- Harry ****_is_**** told about the horcruxes this year. Voldemort is back but is not as strong yet as the Order have stepped up their efforts to hold him at bay. Draco has therefore not been told to kill Dumbledore. Snape makes no Unbreakable Vow. There are still many deaths at the hands of Voldemort and his forces. Lucius escaped Azkaban and is in hiding with Voldy. Draco is still a prefect. Ron will never be poisoned, Katie Bell will not be cursed, no Battle of the Astronomy Tower, etc. None of the implications of Draco's task. **

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Hermione tapped her foot as she gulped down the final foamy dregs of her Butterbeer and looked at the clock again.

He'd said three o'clock, but now it was quarter to four and he still wasn't here.

The bell over the door tinkled delicately and in response Hermione's head whipped around to stare at the entrance, like she had done every time she'd heard it jingle for the past forty-five minutes, but it brought with it only a gust of freezing wind and a tall bearded man wearing a blue cloak. No Ron.

She sighed and slumped back in her chair. Normally she'd just feel irritated with Ron's lack of punctuality, but today there was something more. He'd promised to meet her there. He'd pulled her aside that morning at breakfast to tell her to meet him in The Three Broomsticks at three because he wanted to speak to her.

"In private," he'd emphasized, glancing at Harry. "There's some stuff I want to talk to you about."

Then he flashed her an awkward smile and left with Harry for yet another Quidditch practice. Harry really was working the team hard. He was worse than Oliver Wood nowadays.

She'd felt so sure that Ron had wanted to talk to her about them. Or, well, specifically, the lack thereof. She'd thought he'd finally opened his eyes and realise that she'd liked him for a few years now and he was going to do something about it… and now he wasn't here.

Maybe practise ran over, she thought. But he'd only got his spot on the stupid team because of her in the first place, hadn't he? If she hadn't Confunded McLaggen, Ron wouldn't even be the bloody Keeper. But it was Hogsmeade day. And even Harry, in his determination to win the Cup, knew how much his team needed the respite. In fact, she'd heard him promise Ginny he'd finish practise at two. So where was Ron?

It was five to four now, and Hermione was thoroughly annoyed. She wasn't going to sit here and wait for him any longer; that was for damn sure. And to think that she'd been considering inviting him to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party… She was a fool. Of course Ron didn't know she liked him. Of course he wasn't going to finally make a move.

Well there was no use wallowing in self-pity. Damn Ron. She'd go and find a nice new book that would take her mind off him and his unreliability.

She left her Butterbeer bottle on the table and abandoned the warmth of the pub to be greeted by a brisk wind that knocked all the breath out of her; head bent down against the gale, she fought her way up the cobbled streets towards the tiny little bookstore cramped in a row of shops, that currently was silhouetted against a spectacular pink and purple sky as the sun began to set. She opened the heavy wooden door and another bell tinkled – why did all the shops in Hogsmeade have bells over the doors, she wondered? – and she heard a voice call out: "Hello! I won't be a moment!" from somewhere in the depths of the bookcases.

She knew this place better than to think the owner, a small elderly man with thick, round spectacles who shuffled about with a cane, would be hobbling out to help her any time soon. She didn't mind.

She ran her fingers over the cracked spines of the worn, leather-bound books on the shelf nearest to her, letting the cool covers play under her fingertips. The shop smelled musty and like paper and ink and age, which was part of its allure for her, and dust twirled about in the air, illuminated by shafts of watery autumn sunlight. She let out a deep, relaxing sigh and began scanning the high rising shelves for anything that looked unusual or interesting.

Thought the place was dimly lit, Hermione didn't think of it as dingy – more like cosy. It was cluttered with piles and piles of books, tiny trestle tables and squishy armchairs. Shelves went up and up, all the way up to the ceiling, but the thing she loved the most was the old-fashioned wheeled ladder to allow access to the higher shelves. She loved that thing. It felt so antique, so traditional. It made the shop feel like it went on forever, and that it was filled with more books than anyone could ever read in a lifetime.

She lost track of time as she strolled through the alleys of bookcases, occasionally picking up a book and flicking through it, and soon she had a stack of her selections in her arms. But then, as she wandered around to the textbook section, she saw something that nearly made her drop them.

To her great surprise, Malfoy was reclining in one of the armchairs under the window, his feet propped up on the sill, reading some brown tome. What was he doing here?

He hadn't appeared to notice her. As she stared at him with narrow eyes he scratched his head absently then moved a piece of hair out of his face. He looked different when we was reading, Hermione noticed, to when he was being backed by his cronies.

"Spying are we, Granger?" he said without even looking up.

Hermione started.

"Not spying. Just surprised to see you here. I didn't even know you could read," she remarked.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not as brain-dead as those idiots you hang around with. Potter's too busy chasing the baddies and I'm willing to place a bet that Weasley's as stupid as he is poor."

Malfoy snapped his book shut and rose from the chair while Hermione stood glowering at him.

"You're pathetic," she said.

"And you're a Mudblood, and I think I know which is worse," he replied with a smile, and then without another word he strode past her and disappeared into the maze of shelves. A minute later came the chiming of the bell as he left the shop.

Merlin, she despised that boy. And now he was in the bookshop, her place, poisoning it with his malice. Since when had he been interested in books anyway? He was usually too busy messing around with Crabbe and Goyle to even bother paying attention in lessons, and now all of a sudden he was a bookworm? He was clearly up to something sinister.

Later that evening, Hermione was leaving her dormitory after depositing her newly purchased novels there when Ron showed his face at last. He was coming in through the portrait hole with Katie Bell, Harry, Ginny and that Chaser girl, Demelza something, from the Gryffindor team, laughing and joking around. When he caught sight of Hermione his face blanched and he hurried over to her.

"I am so sorry, I'm such a prat," he said before she could say anything herself. "I was supposed to meet you, wasn't I?"

Hermione kept her face blank and crossed her arms. "Yes, Ronald, you were."

"Don't 'Ronald' me, I'm sorry. I just forgot. Practise didn't even finish until three, but it went so well that Harry said he was going to buy us all anything we wanted at Honeydukes and then we went and I got a bit distracted and I… well, I just forgot," Ron replied, looking sincerely at her. "I'm sorry for being so useless. Are you really mad?"

How could she stay mad at him when he looked so apologetic? Besides, even though it was infuriating, Ron wouldn't be Ron if he wasn't so absent-minded.

"No, I'm just annoyed. Don't worry about it," she conceded, unfolding her arms.

Ron smiled and looked relieved.

"I was just going down to dinner, are you coming?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure. I'll just get Harry."

When the three were finally reunited, they went down to the Great Hall. Harry and Ron immediately began shovelling food down as though they hadn't eaten for weeks while Hermione looked at them, disgusted.

"Didn't you lot eat your body weight in sweets at Honeydukes this afternoon?" she asked in amazement.

The boys looked at her blankly.

"So?" said Ron, spearing a potato.

Hermione just shook her head and put some food on her plate. "Never mind. So, what do you think you'll be doing in Dumbledore's next lesson?" she asked, turning to Harry.

He swallowed and shrugged. "No idea. Probably learning more stuff about Voldemort. Dumbledore seems to think it's important."

"Well of course it's important!" insisted Hermione, surprised at Harry's aloofness. "'Know thy enemy.' How will you be able to defeat him unless you know all about him? Otherwise you won't know his weaknesses!"

Harry shrugged again, clearly not in the mood to talk about this today. Before Hermione could press it further, Ron interjected.

"What did you do today?" he asked Hermione.

"Oh, I went into the book shop, bought some new books."

"More books?" Ron replied through a mouthful of food. "You must own every book ever written by now."

"There's nothing wrong with reading, Ron! Maybe you ought to do a little more, then you wouldn't need so much help with all your homework. Oh," she added, suddenly remembering, "you'll never guess who I saw there."

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Malfoy. Sat in the corner reading. I've never seen him there in my life, I don't know why he's suddenly become such a big fan of literature," she said.

Harry's eyes narrowed at the mention of Malfoy's name.

"That git. Did he say anything to you?"

"No, not really," Hermione hedged.

Ron looked disbelieving. "He called you… that, didn't he?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, but forget about it. It hardly bothers me anymore."

Ron said nothing but his hands curled into fists.

"He shouldn't have been let back into Hogwarts," said Harry angrily. "And how he managed to still be a Prefect I'll never know."

"I think Dumbledore has bigger things to worry about than Draco Malfoy, mate," said Ron.

"Still, he totally abused his power last year. I agree with Harry, he should have had his title revoked," Hermione added.

Harry seemed to be getting angrier the more they talked about him. "That whole family is poison. He shouldn't have been let back into school, especially not since his dad escaped Azkaban. I bet you Malfoy knows where he's hiding."

Hermione patted him consolingly. "The Ministry interrogated him, Harry, he doesn't know anything. They wouldn't have let him go if they thought he was lying."

"He's dangerous. He should be locked up. Especially now he's in Death Eater training."

Hermione and Ron exchanged sceptical glances and Ron began wolfing down his food to avoid this particular minefield. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I highly doubt that Voldemort is so desperate for Death Eaters that he recruited Malfoy. I mean, he got Lucius back, didn't he? And most of the others who were in the Department of Mysteries. Malfoy might be an arrogant arse, but he's not exactly evil."

Harry gave her a dark look and said nothing.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Ron cleared his throat.

"Fancy going visiting Hagrid for a bit?" he suggested, surprisingly tactfully as Harry still looked murderous.

The offer seemed to perk Harry up a little. "Yeah, actually. Sounds good."

Hermione frowned. "But it's after dark. It's not allowed."

"Relax, we'll use the cloak," Ron said breezily.

She still felt uneasy.

"Are you coming or not?" inquired Ron as he and Harry rose from the table.

She shook her head. "No, I'm going to finish that essay for Slughorn instead."

"It's not due in until next week," Harry half-laughed.

"I want to get it done. And I picked up a book today on the properties of Shrivelfigs that I think will really help me. But I suppose you'll be getting all your essay guidance from the mysterious Half-Blood Prince, won't you?" she asked tartly, unable to help herself.

Harry pulled a face. "Leave it Hermione," he said, and with that he walked off with Ron.

At about seven, she went with her books to the library, intending to begin her essay there. She walked through the doors, smiling contentedly as she entered her sanctuary and made her way to her usual spot – a small desk in a corner, not quite hidden but secluded enough that she liked it. To her great surprise however, she saw Malfoy again. This time he was rising from his desk, gathering his belongings and now was headed towards her. He scowled at her as he drew near.

"First spying on me, and now you're following me," he spat as he passed her. "Tut tut, didn't somebody's filthy Muggle mother tell them that it's rude to hound your superiors like this, no matter how much you might adore them?"

She ignored him and strode haughtily over to her spot and placed her things down there. That arrogant, racist pig. Why had he suddenly decided to stake out all of her favourite haunts? She was fairly certain that Malfoy despised school work – not that he needed to do it, he was wealthy enough to never have to work a day in his life, what did his grades matter? – but now, if she didn't know better, she might have thought that he'd just been studying. Malfoy and studying were two things that were not compatible. For some reason she felt threatened.

But why should she be? He was hardly physically intimidating. Sure, he was a fair but taller than she was but he wasn't exactly muscular – Quidditch players were toned, but Seekers were hardly known for their brawn. And she could have sworn, when she'd been so close to him, that he was a tad thinner than usual. His face had looked a little gaunt, his cheeks a bit hollow.

But she was probably imagining things, and even if she wasn't, what was it to her if Malfoy had lost some weight? All she cared about was that he leave her to study in peace and stop invading her spaces. She opened her copy of Shrivelfigs: The Wonderplant and hoped to god that Malfoy would forget his sudden interest in academia soon.

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**Hope this was enough to set up the story for you. Hopefully there should be a new chapter each week. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Kitchen

**A/N - I'm thinking weekend uploads? Yeah, weekend uploads it is. **

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"Miss Granger, a word, if you please?"

Signalling to Harry and Ron that she would only be a minute, Hermione clutched her books to her chest and walked toward the Slughorn's desk.

"Yes Professor?"

He handed her back several rolls of parchment. "That essay you wrote for me on Shrivelfigs was outstanding, truly outstanding. Even if you don't exactly share your friend Mr Potter's particular flair for potion making-"

Hermione scowled. Harry's flair was no more than cheating, or copying off someone who was potentially very dangerous… even if they did seem to know what they were talking about when it came to potions.

"-you are a very remarkable young witch, and very intelligent," Slughorn finished. "Why else do you think I'd have invited you to my little suppers?" He chuckled. "I trust you're coming to my Christmas soiree?"

"Erm… I think so," said Hermione hesitantly.

"Splendid!" Slughorn boomed, his large belly puffing out. "But anyway, where was I? Oh yes. You're clearly a very bright girl, Miss Granger, and so I wanted to see if you'd like to take on some extra credit assignments. Perhaps hone your skills until you can rival Mr Potter," he chortled. "You would be one of the few students who would appreciate it, it seems."

Hermione nodded eagerly, ignoring Slughorn's clear (and unfounded) praise of Harry's skills once more. "That would be wonderful, Professor, I'd be happy to."

"Excellent! Well, let's start with your first assignment this evening, shall we? Bring your textbook, scales and potion-making kits down here at about six, if that's quite alright? It will just be you and one other student who requested extra work. I'll leave you with a recipe for a potion and see how you get on, and then if I feel you've mastered it we can move on to brewing more advanced potions. Perhaps even beyond NEWT level," he said with a twinkle in his eye and the thought of making such high level concoctions practically made Hermione quiver with anticipation.

She thanked the Professor and left, joining Harry and Ron who were waiting outside for her.

"What did he want?" asked Ron.

"He offered me some extra credit assignments."

"You didn't say yes?" replied Harry, incredulously.

"Of course I did!"

Ron shook his head and muttered something that sounded like 'mental.'

The rest of the day passed without anything of interest happening, except Ron exploding a Snargaluff Pod in Herbology. Hermione was eagerly awaiting her appointment with Professor Slughorn, wondering what exciting advanced potion she might be making. That evening before dinner, she was sat in the common room making a chart of Jupiter's moons when Ron appeared from out of the boy's dormitories and strode towards the portrait hole.

"Where are you going?" she inquired chirpily, and Ron started, apparently not having seen her, and turned around.

"I'm going down to the kitchens to get something to eat, I'm starving. Harry will probably make us miss dinner for practise tonight, he's working us like mad. He's up in the dorm now, sleeping. I don't think he's had a decent sleep for ages. Our first match against Slytherin isn't too far off, you know," Ron said, but his face went white as though the thought terrified him. "Do you… you don't want to come with me, do you? You can try and liberate the house elves while we're down there, or something."

He smiled at her and she smiled fondly back. "I have extra credit with Slughorn, remember?"

Ron nodded, his smile wavering a little. He didn't say goodbye but began walking for the portrait again.

"Ron?" she called after him.

He turned around.

"Slughorn's having another one of his parties just before Christmas, and we're allowed to bring guests… so, do you want to come with me? That way we can all go, me, you, Ginny and Harry," she added hastily.

Ron's face suddenly split into a huge grin and he nodded enthusiastically, before clearing his throat and rearranging his features into what might have been an attempt at a casual expression.

"Yeah, sure. Brilliant."

Then he smiled at her again and left the common room.

About ten minutes later Harry came out of the boys' dorm and asked after Ron, so Hermione sent him off to the kitchens, and then a little later on left Gryffindor Tower herself for the dungeons. As usual it was colder than the rest of the school and Hermione shivered through her robes, but upon reaching Professor Slughorn's classroom she found it to be pleasantly warm – a large fire was crackling in a fireplace she'd never noticed before, and she thought that perhaps the Professor had Charmed it there just for the evening. The fire was the only source of light and cast eerie shadows that danced and snaked around the room.

She began setting out her things and sat at a desk waiting for the arrival of the Professor. About five minutes later she heard footsteps echoing off the stone floor out in the hallway and assumed it was him, but then the door opened and a student walked in instead. She didn't immediately notice who it was, though she did remember the Professor telling her another student was taking the assignment too, so she extended a polite greeting.

"Hello," she said with a smile that was wiped quickly from her face when the firelight illuminated the white blond hair of Draco Malfoy.

"Save the pleasantries, Granger," he snapped, and made his way to the back of the room.

Feeling as though she had just swallowed a leaden weight, she stood up and stared after him.

"Please tell me you aren't here for the extra credit assignment," she said, pleading with any deity that might hear her as well as with Malfoy.

"Afraid so."

"No," Hermione groaned, sitting back down.

"Well I'm hardly overjoyed at the thought either, so how about you just shut up, don't speak to me, and we both forget this horrible situation is happening?"

Hermione was all too happy to oblige. A few minutes of tense silence later, Professor Slughorn arrived, waved his wand so some instructions appeared on the board and told them he would return in two hours to see how they'd fared. Hermione had the feeling he'd be nursing a flagon of mead in his office for the duration.

The moment he left Hermione began preparing her Boomslang skin for the potion and tried to forget Malfoy was there, though she could hear the sound of his knife hitting the table as he sliced and the hiss of his cauldron softly bubbling away.

What infuriated her was that she still didn't know why he'd suddenly kick-started his campaign to become a perfect student. She had to admit, it felt a little like he was trying to challenge her, the way he seemed to be everywhere she normally was, as though he was purposely attempting to outdo her.

"Shit," she heard him breathe from behind her and she turned involuntarily.

Even from the distance she could see that he'd finely chopped up his nettles when he was supposed to have shredded them. _What a basic mistake, _she thought with a smirk. Then she looked at her own excess of the plant and cursed herself for being so tolerant.

"Here."

Hermione held out a handful of her nettles to him. He stared at them as though she would try to use them to strangle him.

"No thanks," he replied coldly, looking back down at his own ruined weeds and poking at them with his knife.

She sighed, walked over to his desk and put them down there, before returning to her own cauldron, but standing on the opposite side now so she could survey him. She watched him continue working as though nothing had happened for a few minutes, but the next time she glanced up he was chopping up her nettles.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, the desire to figure out his presence temporarily overwhelming her.

Malfoy didn't even look up. "Same as you. Making a Tranquillity Potion."

"But why?"

"Because that's the assignment, dimwit."

"Yes, but why are you bothering with the assignment?" she pressed.

His head shot up. "Quit sticking your nose in, Granger, it's none of your damn business."

Deterred for a little while by his sharp tone, Hermione ceased her interrogation and concentrated on maintaining the heat of her cauldron. But if there was one thing she could be counted on it was her desire to know, simply know just because she had to. Because she was too inquisitive for her own good.

"Are you picking up extra credit for everything? Or just Potions? Are you failing?" The questions tumbled out, like she'd been doped with Veritaserum.

Malfoy threw down his ladle and sighed. "Are you incapable of keeping your incredibly big mouth shut for five minutes?" he growled.

Hermione didn't respond and simply stirred her potion, looking down at the purple liquid.

"I'm doing it for Potions, but not because I'm failing, if you must know," he said after a while, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "I'm not Longbottom. I don't need lessons in Remedial Potions."

Hermione let the insult to her friend slide by her.

"And I do Transfiguration and Ancient Runes too."

"I've never seen you at any of the translation sessions," remarked Hermione.

"I don't do sessions for Runes, only extra essays. I can't fit them in with Potions as well. I have Quidditch."

Hermione nodded.

"Satisfied? Now can we go back to hating each other in silence? I'm getting sick of hearing your voice," said Malfoy.

Curiosity sated – for now at least – Hermione returned to brewing her potion, which was, of course, looking exactly as it should. But the silence in the room began to get to her, the awkwardness making her feel uncomfortable. Somehow, being almost civil with Malfoy seemed preferable to the overwhelming quiet.

"You know, I think something must be quite wrong with you, if you of all people are starting to give a damn about school work," she joked. "Trying to keep yourself busy or something?"

There was a loud thud and then a springing sound and Hermione looked up, wide-eyed, to see that Malfoy had just stabbed his silver dagger into his desk; it was vibrating wildly as it balanced, impaled in the wood. He was staring at the floor, his hands gripping the table and all his muscles visibly clenched.

"Shut the fuck up, Mudblood. You don't know what you're talking about."

Shocked by his vicious language, Hermione stopped stirring her potion and it immediately began turning pink, not the clear colour it should have been going. Busying herself with fixing it, she bit her tongue and cursed herself for being so nosy.

Fifty unbearable minutes later, Slughorn returned, examined their potions and praised them both. They both packed away their things in stony silence.

"Same time on Thursday, yes?" offered Slughorn just before they left.

Both nodded and then swiftly exited, saying nothing to each other. Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Grindylow," she said to the Fat Lady, and then walked towards where Harry and Ron were sitting, on the good armchairs in front of the fire. To her surprise however, Harry was staring blankly ahead and Ron had a murderous look on his face and was slumped back.

"Was practise really that bad?" she asked jovially as she approached, hoping to elicit at least a smile from her friends but not succeeding.

Ron's scowl deepened. "Actually yes. I was rubbish. Worse than rubbish. A Pygmy Puff on a broom would have made a better Keeper. But I don't want to talk about it. Practise or afterwards," he said darkly. He stood up suddenly. "I'm going to bed."

After he left, Hermione turned to Harry.

"What was all that about?"

Harry looked startled, like he'd been deep in thought. "What?"

"Why's Ron in such a mood?"

"Oh, that. He - er - he got a bit nervous in practice. Panicky. He was terrible, to be honest. And then afterwards when we were walking back we saw Ginny snogging Dean in the corridor and he wasn't too pleased. They had a fight and she pointed out that just because he hasn't snogged anyone, he shouldn't be so angry at Ginny for it," Harry explained.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's such an overreaction. Ginny can kiss whoever she likes! And she's going out with Dean, it's not like she's just going around snogging anyone who offers."

"He's her big brother. I think he saw it less like snogging and more like… like violation or something."

Something in Harry's tone changed and she raised her eyebrows knowingly. Boys were such idiots.

"That's pathetic. I can't believe he's making such a big deal out of it. He's such a child," she replied.

Harry didn't say anything, clearly not wanting to get in the middle of an argument. They were quiet for a little while, as the common room buzzed with laughter and talk around them.

"You must have snogged Krum in fourth year though?" Harry said suddenly.

Hermione blushed and began spluttering.

"What kind of a question – that's private, Harry – well, I mean, yes but – none of your business – I don't see why you need to know…"

She didn't want to remember fourth year, in particular not Krum. Or snogging him. Or the week in Bulgaria in the summer. Her face flushed deeper red. She excused herself and went to bed.

The next day, Ron was incredibly touchy. Though Hermione knew why now, it didn't stop her from feeling angry and hurt whenever he snapped at her. And in between the snarled insults and sharp comments was a glacial manner, as though he was blocking her out, and she didn't know why. _She _hadn't been snogging Dean, so why was he taking it out on her?

By dinner, she couldn't take it anymore. All she did was knock over the salt and Ron flipped, like she'd just hexed him.

"Bloody hell, you're so clumsy! Can't you do anything without screwing it up?" he snapped at her.

She slammed the shaker back down on the table and grabbed her bag.

"I've had just about enough of you today, your behaviour has been disgusting. Don't talk to me again until you're in a better mood," she retorted, and stormed off to the library.

But even the library couldn't provide the peace she needed, because Malfoy's unappreciated presence was tainting the place once more.

"Great," she muttered as she made her way to her table.

Fortunately, he didn't say anything, though he did shoot her a filthy look as she walked past.

He was there the next evening as she tried to escape Ronald's foul mood again, and the next evening too. They didn't speak during their second Potions assignment on Thursday, and the next night he appeared in library once more. In fact, for the next three evenings she saw him there, each time sat in exactly the same spot, and each time he said nothing to her.

Not that she was looking for him, of course.


	3. By a Thread

**A/N - Hey, did you hear? Apparently they changed the definition of "weekly" to mean "whenever the hell you feel like it."**

**Oh, they didn't? Yeah, my bad... sorry!**

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By the morning of the big Quidditch match, Ron had still not become any more pleasant to be around. Hermione had taken to avoiding him unless absolutely necessary, but as she made her way down to breakfast to see Harry and Ron sat at the table in their red and gold uniforms, she knew she couldn't just ignore them.

"How are you both feeling?" she asked on her approach, eyeing the back of Ron's head warily.

"Fine," said Harry, picking up a glass of pumpkin juice.

But then quick as a flash, Hermione saw him flick his wrist as though he was pouring something into to the cup, and then a glint of gold. She narrowed her eyes. Harry wouldn't… would he?

"There you go, Ron. Drink up."

"Don't drink that, Ron!" she said sharply as he raised the glass to his lips.

The boys looked up at her. Ron looked terribly ill, pale as Nearly Headless Nick, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Why not?" he asked.

Hermione glared at Harry accusingly. "You just put something in that drink."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!" she insisted.

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Harry calmly, so Hermione rounded on Ron.

"Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!"

But instead of listening to her, Ron downed the entire glass and then stared at her defiantly.

"Stop bossing me around, Hermione."

Her mouth hung open in shock and horror. She couldn't believe Ron would be so reckless. And Harry! Spiking Ron's drink with his bottle of Felix was against the rules – did he really care that much about a stupid game of Quidditch?

She bent down to hiss in Harry's ear. "You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!"

"Hark who's talking," he whispered back snidely. "Confunded anyone lately?"

Deeply offended by his low blow, Hermione stormed off up the table and sat down with Neville, Dean and Ginny instead. Confunding Cormac was one thing, but actually drugging the Keeper so they could win was quite another.

She picked at her breakfast moodily, debating whether to boycott the game on principle or to go to support her friends. In the end, her friendship won the battle. Damn her Gryffindor loyalty.

She strode down the cold and frosty grounds with Neville and Luna, who had found them as they left the Great Hall – Ginny had left early to get ready and Dean had gone with her. Luna was wearing her lion hat and was attracting many stares and giggles from other students, but she didn't notice and merely stared off dreamily into the distance. They took seats together in the stands and huddled together, clapping and cheering (although rather reluctantly on Hermione's part) when the teams came onto the pitch. The captains shook hands and then the whistle blew and they soared into the air. Harry immediately began tailing Malfoy, who was flying up far higher than the others to search for the Snitch, and Ron flew straight to cover the goalposts. He looked far more confident than he had at breakfast – no wonder, thought Hermione.

"…patchy performance as Keeper last year that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help," drawled Zacharias Smith, the new commentator, his words drawing a mix of cheers and boos. "Now Viola Richmond, for Slytherin, with the Quaffle, a replacement for Chaser Vaisey, who won't be playing today after a run in with a Bludger – being Slytherin's best scorer that might be a blow to the team but very lucky for the Gryffindors, although given their new line up they may need all the luck they can get…"

Hermione gritted her teeth.

Ron played fantastically, not that Hermione was surprised by any of the miraculous and difficult saves he made, and the whole team seemed to be in another league, passing the ball seamlessly and rarely being intercepted. After only half an hour, Smith's whiny voice suddenly took a smidgen more excitement as he spotted Malfoy and Harry speeding together after the Snitch, and Harry's capture sealed victory for the Gryffindor team. Hermione tried to feel happy, but she couldn't shake her distaste with exactly how the win had been procured.

As the stands began to empty, Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor changing room to finally give the boys a piece of her mind. She caught them just as they were leaving.

"I'm glad we won. But you shouldn't have done what you did. Slughorn told us it was illegal," she said firmly.

Ron looked angry. "So you're going to turn your best friends in then, are you?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, a ghost of a smile twitching at his mouth.

"You know perfectly well what we're talking about!" Hermione insisted. "You put some of your Felix Felicis in Ron's juice this morning, you made him lucky!"

"No I didn't," said Harry, smiling.

"Yes you did, Harry! That why the weather conditions were good and Slytherin's best Chaser was missing and Ron saved everything!"

"I didn't put it in," Harry said, practically beaming as he produced his bottle of Felix from his pocket to show her the wax seal still intact at the top. "I just wanted Ron to think I had, so I pretended to when you were looking. He just needed a bit of confidence," he continued, looking at Ron. "That was all you, mate. You didn't need any help."

"So… the weather… and Vaisey not playing… they were just coincidences?"

Harry nodded. Ron stared at him, began to smile, but then rounded on Hermione.

"You gave Ron Felix this morning, that's why he saved everything!" he said in a shrill, high voice that was clearly meant to be an imitation of her. "See! I'm not as useless as you think I am!"

Hermione blinked, shocked by his irritation. "I didn't say you were useless! And you thought you'd been given it, too, it wasn't just me-" she said, but he'd already walked out of the changing room with his broom over his shoulder, whistling softly.

Hermione's eyes started to sting. Why was Ron behaving like this lately? Why was he looking for excuses to pick fights with her?

Harry looked very uncomfortable. "Shall… shall we go to the party then?" he asked nervously.

"You go, I'm not. I'm sick of Ron, what have I done to deserve this kind of treatment?" she asked thickly, trying to hold back tears, and then storming out of the changing room too.

She made it to her dorm before the common room had filled up too much and slumped on her bed, disturbing a sleeping Crookshanks and wiping away the few tears that had made their way down her face. Damn Ron. He was so sensitive. She hadn't meant to offend him. She stroked behind Crookshanks' ears and he purred loudly, nuzzling into her chest as he curled up on her lap.

She hid in her room for quite some time before deciding to show her face at the party. She could hear laughter and music from down the spiral staircase and at the very least she could enjoy a Butterbeer even if Ron was being a royal prat.

Holding her head up high, she descended the staircase and entered the packed common room. Huge red and gold banners were hanging up all around with messages of encouragement and congratulations on them, Hermione could barely move for people and every available surface was being used to hold food or drink. She was just making her way to the nearest table stocked with Butterbeers when she saw it; Ron and Lavender stood, unabashed in the middle of a crowd of people, kissing. She had her arms snaked around his neck and he had his hands firmly planted on her waist, and it felt immediately as though Hermione was drowning.

She fled the common room before she'd realised she'd done it and hid in an empty classroom. Tears flowing freely, she sat cross legged on top of the desk and pulled out her wand, twiddling it as she cried. Through her sobs, she muttered "Avis," and there was blue light, a bang like a gunshot, a small cloud of smoke and then a flock of tiny yellow birds began tweeting and swooping around the room. Hermione smiled weakly as one came to land on her hand, chirped, and then took off again. They had just started orbiting her head like tiny, fluttering moons when she heard the door open.

"Hermione?"

It was Harry. She wiped away her tears on the back of her hand.

"Oh, hello Harry." She gestured to her birds. "I was just… you know, practising."

"Yeah, they're – er – really good," he said hesitantly.

He clearly wasn't sure what to say, but Hermione didn't mind; Harry wasn't particularly good at these kind of situations. He just stared at her for a few moments until she stared fixedly at her birds and said, "Ron seemed to be enjoying the celebrations."

Her voice caught and she heard it.

Harry looked caught off guard. "Er… did he?"

"You know he did, don't pretend you didn't see him. He wasn't exactly subtle, was-"

The door burst open once more and there stood the last two people Hermione wanted to see – Ron, pulling Lavender by the hand, laughing. Then he saw Harry and Hermione, came to a standstill and simply said, "Oh."

No apology. No sign of concern for Hermione. Rage bubbled up inside of her. Lavender giggled stupidly, murmured "Oops!" and ducked back out of the room, leaving the three of them stood in a swelling silence that was rapidly beginning to suffocate Hermione. Ron couldn't even look at her. Coward.

"I was wondering where you'd got to, Harry!" he said, in a falsely bright way.

Hermione slid off the desk, her birds still circling her. She heard herself say something about leaving Lavender waiting in a very calm, measured tone but it was like the words had just slipped out on someone else's consent – she didn't feel in control of her own body anymore, she was too angry. She walked over to the door, holding herself taller than normal but then as she stood in the frame the rage came pulsing down her arm, into her fingertips and she could feel her magic battering her body for release, like a restless tide.

"Oppugno!" she shrieked, pointing her wand at Ron, and her feathery conjurations began attacking him, pecking and clawing at him as he yelled and tried to fight them off. She didn't wait around to watch the attack she'd just choreographed, but shot Ron a dirty look, fought back the new wave of tears and ran off down the corridor.

She took off down the nearest set of stairs, intending to aim for Myrtle's bathroom. Neither Harry or Ron could come after her there… but of course, Ron would be do busy with Lavender now, wouldn't he?

The mental image of them, entwined together in the common room, floated unbidden into her mind. Why was her head forcing her to torture herself? More importantly, why was she so upset over Ron? He clearly didn't care about her.

She was just passing the Transfiguration corridor when she caught sight of Draco Malfoy stepping out of a classroom, clutching a bundle of papers. Inside, she screamed. After Ron, he was the last person in the world she wanted to see right now. Couldn't a girl cry in peace in this damn school? She hurried past him, pretending not to notice that his eyes were fixed on her.

"Something got you down, Granger? Get nine out of ten on an essay or something?" he called after her.

Normally Hermione would have ignored him, but right now her nerved were fried and she was close to breaking. She span on her heel and glared at him.

"Get lost, you slimeball. Why do you seem to be making a point of being wherever I don't want you to be?" she snapped.

"Why do you seem to make a point of following me around like a little Mudblood lap dog? If you want to go out with me, all you have to do is ask. Of course, you'll be met with swift decline," he replied coolly.

The nerve. Like she would follow him around school for any reason whatsoever. Or that she would even contemplate going out with the likes of him. She removed her wand from her pocket.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy, shut that filthy mouth of yours because I'm not in the mood right now. My patience is hanging by a thread. I'll hex you into oblivion without a second thought. Avis."

Another flock of her trademark birds exploded out of her wand and came to hover behind her, like legions ready to attack, and Malfoy looked startled.

"No magic in the corridors, Granger, you know the rules. I'll have to report you for this," he said, but he still eyed the birds with caution. "What are you going to do, set your canaries on me?"

"Don't push me," she hissed.

He quirked one eyebrow, and for a fraction of a second, Hermione though he looked almost impressed. "Well I wouldn't want to damage my lovely face now, would I? I already have most of my own house out to get me after today, I don't need to add a magical menagerie to the list too."

Malfoy smirked sourly at her and opened his mouth as though to say something more, glanced again at her feathered army, then closed it. He walked off down the corridor, clutching his pieces of parchment, and left her to walk slowly to Myrtle's bathroom, sadly dismissing her birds as she drifted along.


	4. Seat Belt

**A/N - As I wrote in the author's note of the latest chapter of ****_Left Behind,_**** my other fic, I've finally decided on a regular uploading schedule. ****_Project Narcissis_****t will be updated the first week of every month, and ****_Left Behind_**** will be updated on the third week****. This is just a rough schedule, and I may upload more frequently than that. **

**I know this fic is starting off fairly slow, but don't worry, there will be an increase in DM/HG interaction in the coming chapters. **

**Otherwise, please check out my other fic if you'd like to, and dropping a review would be nice, and if you could review this chapter that would be absolutely splendid too. **

* * *

Dipping his quill in ink, Draco paused to consult his textbook. Three examples of the unusual figure-of-eight wand movement… he couldn't think of a third at all…

That dull throb behind his left eyeball flared up yet again and he put down his quill to massage his temples. Another stress headache. Fantastic. Maybe it was a sign that he was doing too much work. After all he had already done two essays tonight. Maybe he should call it a day.

"What are you up to all alone in this corner, then?"

Draco sighed. "Nothing, Pansy. Just homework."

Pansy sauntered round and perched on the end of the desk and began swinging her legs in a way that she no doubt though flirtatious and cute, but that Draco thought made her look like an oversized toddler.

"You've been doing an awful lot of homework lately," she remarked, flicking her hair out of her face. "You should relax for a bit."

Draco barely managed to supress a snort. Pansy was terrible at subtlety.

"I'm alright, thanks," he said, picking up his quill again.

"Come on, Draco," Pansy cooed, reaching up and drawing tiny circles on his shoulder with one finger. "You know what they say about being all work and no play… don't be so uptight. Come play with me."

Draco grimaced and shuddered slightly. "I said I'm alright."

"Fine!"

Pansy jumped off the desk and stalked off. Draco didn't know why she was still trying with him. A one-night thing with her at the end of last year had been enough for him and he'd been sure to make sure she knew so, but apparently she didn't give up that easily. He watched her walk over to Blaise Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle and plant herself down angrily with her arms crossed.

Draco felt a pang of sadness. Brainless as his ex-cronies were, he did miss their physical presence more than anything. At the very least it had made him feel like he had friends. "_Malfoys don't have friends,_" his father had told him once, "_only admirers_." But since he had started this year, he'd let himself drift away from them, from everyone. Things were different now, he felt different, had different pressures… he just didn't feel like being around people very much lately.

As though reading his thoughts and taking it as a perfect opportunity to wind someone up, Theodore Nott suddenly appeared and leant against the wall to Draco's left.

"Is it me," he asked deviously, "or did I just witness you turning down the lovely Miss Parkinson?"

"You might have done," Draco replied, with some effort.

He was never sure how he felt with Theo. He could be fun, and they'd shared a dorm up until third year, but they hadn't spoken much since then. Besides, nowadays he was more of a loner, preferring the company of women to his male peers.

"I thought you two had some kind of a thing going on?"

"Nope."

"That's odd, considering the number of times I used to walk in on you two snogging back in the day," Theo said with a smirk.

"I was fourteen, I didn't know any better. We're just friends now."

"Oh, friends? Hmm." Theo had paused purposely for dramatic effect, Draco could tell. "I find that hard to believe. Because from what I can see, you hardly have an abundance of those lately."

Draco put down his quill and looked up at Theo.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply.

"Nothing," smiled Theo, grabbing a chair from nearby and dragging it over, taking a seat next to Draco. "But we used to be buddies and I've kind of missed that. So I thought I'd be charitable and offer to rekindle our friendship since you seem in dire need of it."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"And, yes… perhaps I may have angered some of the women of the house… and maybe one of them was Pansy… and maybe her little group over there have abandoned me because she told them to," he added wickedly. "But you know, I did miss you."

"Sure."

Theo grinned. "So, what's going on in that little life of yours that's made you such a social outcast? All you ever seem to be doing is work."

Draco shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Nothing. I just get a lot of homework."

"And a lot of extra credit work too?"

Theo's throwaway comment made Draco do a double-take. He hadn't told anybody about that. He knew if people found out he'd lose a lot of his credibility.

"Oh yes, I know about that too," said Theo. "You'd be surprised what I know, Draco. So come on, spill. Why have you suddenly embraced the life of a bookworm?"

For some reason, Draco actually felt like he wanted to tell Theo what was going on. There was something about him – maybe it was how smoothly he pulled conversation the way he wanted it to go, or maybe it was that roguish smile of his that made him seem likeable and trustworthy. Either way, he suddenly felt like he knew why Theo was so notorious for womanising.

"Well…" he began hesitantly, "you of all people must know how it's been since summer. Since, you know..."

Theo nodded. "Since he came back?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I know all about that. Dad won't let me forget it."

Draco was shocked by the distaste in Theo's voice but carried on anyway. "Right. So it's been hard – at home – since then. Father's in hiding since he escaped Azkaban, mother's been worried sick. He can't even tell us where he is. I haven't seen him in months."

"You're preaching to the choir, Draco," replied Theo wearily. "It seems both of our daddies are on the run."

How could Draco have forgotten? Of course – Theo's father had been part of the same mass breakout as Lucius. He suddenly felt like he could trust Theo a lot more.

"It's just made things so much worse for me now. I mean, I know my dad always wanted me to follow in his footsteps," Draco continued, "and for a while I wanted to… but I hadn't counted on the Dark Lord returning."

"Truth be told, I don't think many people did," muttered Theo conspiratorially.

"He's been... well… he's been rather insistent with what he wants for me in the future…" he explained. "He's not happy with the idea of my staying at Hogwarts. He's been writing me letters since the start of the year, and they're getting worse."

"Ah, the letters. Yeah," murmured Theo. "I don't think you're the only Slytherin who's been getting those."

"Mother doesn't know, of course. It would only upset her. But I don't want to think about it. I don't know what to do. He's my father. It's too much pressure, I can't handle it," Draco confessed.

Theo nodded. "So… let me guess? You're using school as a nice healthy way to distract yourself?"

This was why Draco had spent less time with Theo since third year, he suddenly remembered. He noticed too much, made too many accurate deductions, and had that horrible way of drawing out an uncomfortable level of honesty from people. He fell suddenly silent, and Theo smiled at this confirmation.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Draco. No need to be ashamed. You're doing essays, I'm doing any girl who'll have me… we all have our own methods of taking our mind off our troubles," he grinned, but it seemed a little forced, like there was a sadness behind it.

"You don't understand," Draco began, trying to find a way to convey how much stress he felt, but Theo interrupted him.

"I do, more than most, I promise you," Theo asserted. "It feels like you've been backed into a corner and there's no escaping. Like you've been thrown into a lake without the faintest idea of how to swim. The expectations are unbearable. He's your dad; he should care about what _you_ want, what _you_ need, but all he cares about is what _he_ needs from you. You want to stay safe and stay out of it and maintain some level of self-preservation but he's pulling you in and you can't run away. He's acting like…" – Theo began looking around, as though searching the air for the perfect simile – "…like a seat belt. They used to keep you safe and grounded, albeit restricted. But now he's holding you back too much, and it's starting to choke you."

Draco stared at Theo. He really understood. That was exactly how Draco was feeling. How did he know? It was a perfect summation of his every emotion since June… except for one thing.

"What in Salazar's name is a seat belt?" he asked, confused.

"Muggles have them, in those car things, you know. They're like harnesses, they strap them into the seat so if they crash then they don't smash their heads and kill themselves," Theo explained.

Theo smiled pleasantly while Draco gaped at him.

"How do you know anything about Muggles?"

Apparently having had enough of his conversation, Theo stood up.

"You know, books, the radio. And they have these wonderful things called films too," he replied casually. "You see, my position isn't quite as bad as yours. My father isn't in as deep as yours. And luckily for me, he doesn't control everything I do, either. He hasn't for a very long time."

Adjusting his green and silver tie, Theo walked off in the direction of the boys' dormitories, leaving Draco feeling no better as a result of their conversation; if anything, he felt worse.


End file.
